


No More Trombone-liness

by Saringold



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Instruments, M/M, domestic life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 06:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saringold/pseuds/Saringold
Summary: After Red serenaded Sans with a cello, Sans decides to return the favor by getting back into the swing of things with his trombone.





	No More Trombone-liness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrushingOnSans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrushingOnSans/gifts).



> Hello, folks! So, this is meant to be a continuation of the fic "Hitting the High Note," which you can find here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/10991856?show_comments=true&view_adult=true#comments

> 
> I posted that one on the wrong pseud so I had to orphan it, but I see no reason to take it down and repost it so please feel free to check it out there. Since this is a continuation, it's once again dedicated to the lovely and wonderful CrushingOnSans, and thank you kindly for taking the time to comment on it!
> 
> Since I have little experience writing romance, please remember that this is just a fun, silly little hobby so comments and criticisms are appreciated. :)

It had been two weeks since Red and Sans had experienced that enchanted evening with the cello, and Sans had determined that he was definitely going to hear it more often. They’d converted part of the guest bedroom into a music area (which sat next to a treadmill that Sans had insisted upon bringing with them for some reason, although Red preferred his elliptical machine), and Sans had bought his fiancée every music book that his soul desired so that he could learn some new material and perhaps not be so caught up in his painful past. Now, Red took the time to practice every day, and his bow would sail across silver strings, streams of notes running together to form wondrous waves of music that would flood their apartment (and the rest of the hall) and earn them the occasional noise complaint from their neighbors. 

Sans, of course, ignored them all. He loved it when his soulmate played that worn instrument; there was something personal and intimate about it that really resonated with his soul, the steady, soothing sounds as relaxing as a sailboat on a stormless sea. Even though he’d offered to buy Red a new cello, Red had declined, saying that they didn’t have enough money for such a purchase and that this one “had too many memories to just throw it back in the dump.” Sans had let it go after that, happy that his lover was happy.

One day, on his way back from work, Sans’ phone started ringing. He smiled at the upbeat tune his brother had chosen for himself and quickly answered. 

“‘sup, bro?”

“HELLO, SANS! I WAS RECENTLY TRYING TO TRACK DOWN THAT DOG! YOU KNOW, THE ANNOYING ONE! APPARENTLY, HE MOVED TO THE SURFACE TOO, AND MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE MOVED INTO MY HOUSE! I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW HE GOT MY ADDRESS!”

“it’s a real mystery, paps.”

“OH! BUT THAT’S NOT ACTUALLY WHY I CALLED. NO, I HAVE LOCATED YOUR TROMBONE! I REMEMBER YOU ASKING ME ABOUT IT LAST WEEK, AND SINCE THE GREAT PAPYRUS ALWAYS KEEPS HIS WORD, I HAVE FOUND IT FOR YOU!”

“that’s real nice of ya, papyrus. thank you.”

“YOU’RE WELCOME! JUST BE GRATEFUL THAT WAS THE ONE BONE THAT DOG DOESN’T WANT TO STEAL! NYEH HEH HEH!”

“i’ll come by in a _minuet.”_

“ALRIGHT, THAT SHOULD...THAT WAS A MUSIC PUN, WASN’T IT.”

“it was, but maybe i should give it a _rest.”_

Sans chuckled at the pun, but Papyrus had long since hung up. With an affectionate glance toward his phone, Sans teleported over to his brother’s house, thanking the stars that he had such a cool dude looking out for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sans gently ran his phalanges over the worn brass of his trombone. It was technically one of many that he owned; while underground, he had constructed a number of fakes out of paper-mache and tape that were perfect for pranking and leaving around the house, but only this one was real. The ones that he’d stuffed in his drawer had long since disintegrated, but this one still remained.

He could remember exactly where this instrument came from, too. Back when Sans and Papyrus had just moved to Snowdin, the locals were stunned to discover that the two had never celebrated Gyftmas before and that it was a tradition entirely foreign to them. Needless to say, Sans had felt more than a little intimidated, fearing that the careless whispers and pitying looks would leave them even more ostracized than before, and his hands trembled even as the perpetual smile on his face betrayed nothing. However, his fears proved to be unjustified; the entire town came together to get something for each of them as a way to welcome them to the snowy city, and for Papyrus, they got an action figure (“WITH REAL ACTION-FIGURE ACTION,” Papyrus had exclaimed, awestruck), while Sans had received a polished, almost new looking trombone. He remembered feeling confused at the rush of emotion that bolted through him; he’d had to scrounge and save in order to even make the trip over here, and any money he’d had was spent on Papyrus. To be given such a gift, one that was certainly rather expensive and one he knew he hadn’t earned, caused a storm of tears to appear in his sockets. Papyrus still remembered it as the only time he had ever seen his big brother cry in public. 

After he’d received the instrument, he had practiced it often, and their wooden house was filled with music. However, as Papyrus got older, he’d let it fall by the wayside and the jazzy melodies that once filled the air became less and less frequent. Given that he was the only one working and earning rent money, paying the bills was more important, and so spending time cultivating his hobbies was a thing of the past. However, seeing this trombone again made his soul soar with an indescribable joy. There was nothing quite like the wonder of creation, of knowing that you had brought something new and precious and unique into the world, no matter how big or small of a contribution it was. Sans would never say it aloud, but playing the trombone had always made him feel alive, in a sense. The purpose of living was to create, he felt; create a life, a laugh, a little bit of love between family and friends. If you weren’t creating, you weren’t living, or at least you weren’t living as well as you could be. 

For a long time, Sans had stopped creating in favor of just surviving, not allowing himself to grow because he couldn’t bear to do so. But now, at last, he was with Red, his soulmate, the one person who understood him so completely and truly that Sans felt like he could create entire worlds full of song so long as Red was by his side. He’d spent far too much time wrestling with the question of whether or not Red could ever love him because he felt like he’d stopped creating, stopped contributing anything towards making life meaningful and he was therefore unworthy of such love. Yet… here he was. He didn’t know what he had done to earn the love of his counterpart, but whatever it was, he was grateful. 

“SANS?” came a voice from his doorway. He jolted, realizing that he had just been staring at the instrument for far too long, and turned towards Papyrus. 

“w-what’s up, paps?” he chuckled nervously, embarrassed at having been caught zoning out. 

“RED JUST CALLED. HE SOUNDED WORRIED, SAYING YOU WEREN’T ANSWERING YOUR PHONE.” 

Sans searched his pocket to find his phone buzzing with notifications, all texts and calls from Red. He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “yeah, i should head back. thanks for lettin’ me know about this.”

His brother smiled, the kind of smile that beamed brighter and conveyed far more than words ever could say. “YOU’RE WELCOME! NOW GET GOING, LAZYBONES!”

Sans smiled back, a real smile, and Papyrus engraved the image into the archive of his memory, determined to never forget a single instance of his brother smiling like he meant it. “sure thing. see ya soon, bro.”

And with that, he was gone, and the trombone with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red had almost finished pacing a hole into their carpet when Sans returned to their apartment. Red looked up worriedly, checking his fiancée and seeing that he was unharmed before crushing him in a hug. “stars above, you bozo! i was worried about you!” 

Sans patted his back gently. “sorry, babe. i had to get something from paps, and spent a little too much time skippin’ down memory lane.” He held up the trombone, and Red’s eyelights widened as he got a good look at it. 

“well, lookie here! finally decided to get it out of the closet, hm?”

Sans winked. “given our daily lives, it was _instrumental,_ wouldn’t you say?”

Red barked a laugh before guiding his fiancée to the bed. “alright, let’s hear it then!”

Sans blushed. “well, let me make sure i can even play it first!” Grabbing a cloth that he’d brought with him, Sans began to polish the slide, then examined the bell. Satisfied that it was in good shape, he checked the tuning slide and bell brace before declaring it fit to play.

“i’m going to be a bit rusty, but here goes.” He brought the instrument to his teeth, and as he began to play, Red was blown away. 

The years of inexperience had caught up to Sans, true, but the sheer passion with which he played was breathtaking. The notes soared through the room, winging their way through Red’s mind and escaping into the noisy night. Unlike his cello, the trombone didn’t sing; it _belted, _the music flying through the air as the strong, deep notes echoed like thunder. Quick as a bird, the slide leapt to and fro, the symphonic storm granting it no respite, until Sans began to play a little more slowly, the eye of the hurricane lasting for but a bit until the song sped up soon after. For a lazy log like his lover, Red would never have expected the intensity of the song that he played, nor the look of utter concentration on his face. Sans did not play the trombone for himself. No, that was the face of one who wanted to foster an emotion in others, and one look at his face told Red that if he physically could be, Sans would be filled with Determination. Red felt his soul beat harder in response; this must have been what Sans felt watching him play the cello, because damn if he didn’t want that mouth and those hands on him right now, the same look of joyous rapture engraved on his soulmate’s face as Red was the one belting out notes of ecstasy, his hands sliding up and down his- nope. Best to stop that train of thought right there.__

____

At long last, the song ended, and Sans almost dropped the trombone, exhausted. Without saying a word, Red leaned up against him, holding his lover tightly against his side. “you were amazing.” *Kiss* “incredible.” *Kiss* “absolutely stunning.” 

____

Sans laughed, embarrassed. “oh come on, it wasn’t that great.”

____

Red chuckled darkly in response. “well, if you weren’t satisfied with that performance, maybe i can interest you in something else you can do with those hands…”

____

Sans looked down to see the telltale bulge in his fiancée’s shorts, and gave Red a knowing look. “well, i’m always up for giving an encore.”

____


End file.
